The meaning of life

C.J 30 yrs
“Maybe for fun. Sadness is fun, happiness is fun, the most horrible thing is getting bored.”

E.H 30 yrs
“There is no inherent meaning, you have to bring meaning to it.”

G.Y 29 yrs
“Eating, drinking, having fun, be happy.”

H.S 54 yrs
“Make yourself happy; make others happy.”

J.H 28 yrs
“The meaning (of life) is everything you’ve been through.”

J.L 28 yrs
“About this…I don’t know.”

J.S 28 yrs
“Hum, I don’t know. I think people all have different needs in different stages of their lives. In general, I think the meaning of life should be to fulfill your individual value, and to provide yourself a relative satisfying life through the practice of your value.”

L.S 22 yrs
“The meaning of life is to find yourself. Throughout my whole life time, when others drifted wherever life may take them to, I hope I could have my own opinion, understand my own bottomline, and tell right and wrong. The meaning of life varies to each individual, it is all good as long as you don’t let down yourself.”

L.Z 29 yrs
“To pursue the power of keep pursueing.”

P.L 28 yrs
“Keep learning, keep sharing. To experience, to feel.”

Q.F 28 yrs
“Maybe it is about keep searching the meaning in different life stages, but (I) never found out the answer.”

R.Z 28 yrs
“Live along, until there is no motivation to support you. What’s the motives…The motives should be both parents are well, two or three close friends are around.”

S.Y 30 yrs
“I’ve been thinking about this question for countless times, then I think maybe the answer is to experience. We come to this world to feel love hate obsession anger and all other feelings existed. It should be good as long as you live a life you like. The key to answer this question is not to try to search for a final answer. Compared to thinking about WHY, thinking about HOW is a better answer. for instance, when I see a pretty flower, I love this world a bit more.”

T.T 33 yrs
“For me, I think there is value in learning, understanding, and helping people.”

V.K 32 yrs
“Oh my gosh! What a huge question! I wish I knew. I guess my immediate and short answer would be happiness and love. Finding/creating/learning how to do both those things seems to me like what it’s all about.”

X.L 22 yrs
“Just live the life. Work hard to get enough money for living the life without worrying about I have to do something.”

X.W 27 yrs
“I’ve been thinking about this too. Several days ago, a PhD from Bristol asked me the same question. I think for me, the meaning of life is to keep discovering all possibilities without forgetting where you come from. Not forget where you come from includes: love your familes, love your friends, know how to enjoy your life. Keep discovering all possibilities means to keep challenging myself. After all I’m just a normal person, this huge philosophy queston is so hard to answer.”

X.Z 32 yrs
“Try hard to improve your spiritual world when you are still alive.”

Y.Z 30 yrs
“The meaning of life is to enjoy life, or say to feel all aspect of the world. It’s good as long as you are happy.”

Y.L 29 yrs
“The last person asked me the same question is a former Christian coworker of mine. I think the meaning of life is different for everyone. Some want to do ultra good in their career; some want to pursue a happy family life; (this) could be big (general) or small (specific). In general, I think the meaning of life is to practice your own belief, and to realize your goal in the end. When you are old and take a retrospect of life, if your heart has no regret, this could be defined as ‘fulfilled the meaning of life’. ”

Y.X 28 yrs
“To eat.”


The occult

It rides on the wind, lurking in the dark corner of my hippocampus:
watching the cocoa cookie dough ferment in the sun,
my tore up dress drips it’s cotton fabric into the water, and
the momument standing in solitude embraces the peculier Feburary gloom.
Why not go back in time?

Then you start to tag me between those sheets:
my name, your name, their names, coalesced;
the extraneous, the eccentric, the exact, commingled;
obsolete tales, novel legends, timing lies, merged.
So I’ve heard, your chant, floating, drifting, disolving.

The bleeding scalple makes it impossible to fathom home:
brutal imaginations align before summer returns;
submissive servants bow when the master arrives;
you suffer and fall apart till desperation strikes; yet
I am too stucked to make out of the occult.

The reason

Often, when people talk about Chopin, they talk about his Nocturnes which resonant with too many souls; or the Mazurkas hardly fail to raise our spirits. When it finally comes to his polonaise, most get held by “Heroic” and would rather to construct the link between the piece with the French revolution. Of course the long pieces of Concertos brings the musician fame and money. But I’ve learnt it first through a melancholy youth story.

I was sitting in front of my 90s Yamaha keyboard with Z when he played No.12 in B flat major.
“This is my favorite one. Chopin wrote this when he was 7.”
“I could see that from the cheerful tone, sounds like a kid, but slightly over-mature for a 7 years old.”
“How hearty your comment is.” he replied sarcastically, “You’d better go to Concerto No.1 Second movement. You know Chopin wrote that for someone he secretly loves?”

So I learnt when Chopin wrote the Concerto No.1, he was 20 years old. It reminds me of Ma jeunesse ne fut qu’un ténébreux orage. He must fail to see any romantic possibilities with another, or with George Sand, the other.

“So how it ends?” by that time, I never knew any of Chopin, not even mention his personal life.
“Nothing. He loved; he composed; but he only planted this love deeply in his heart and never told. It’s not until he dead did the girl found out she had been loved by him and herself the one inspired the Second movement which rarely fails to awake memories of youth.”
“Well, bummer.” I tried to ignore his apparent implication, “He really should let her know. I say giving it a shot prevents the future regret.”
“That’s what you’ve done. But who’s feeling like a mess now?”
“Shut up, it’ll pass.” I snapped, very uncertain about my reckless claim.
“Anyway, Chopin, taking this emotional and sentimental romance with him, later on lived happily with his new lover(s) for ten years.”
“So, I say you’d better let it go right now and start with someone new.” he smirked.

Later on Z went back to San Jose for his normal and endless work. We talked more about Chopin, Hummel, and Mozart. He introduced more albums and single pieces to me, but none draws me like the Second movement does. I always feel there was something left out about my unspeakable feelings.

One day I was listening to Polonaise No.12 and Concerto No.1 together again, it suddenly struck me that this is how youth coming after childhood. The two pieces are marks of his life, both out of instinctual and pure emotions; the latter is like a Rest to the former, a line once crossed means a claim to end the childhood.

But Traversé çà et là par de brillants soleils.
I guess this is when I found why my defense is invalid and my hope insincere.

All over

It appeared to me too late and spilt all over.
When and where this should happen, and I called
maybe it could be better if nothing had flowed.
The regaled crow on top of the foothill silently judging initiation of those words,
and the poisoned maple syrup showed his best guess on what the future embraces.
Like a sentence I made a mistake, with too many syllables,
pieces and pieces and pieces,
running down the water,
creating the bell clinking sound.

It should have come earlier in the darkest nights.
When the luna holoscope shines within, and you told
maybe it would get further with your physical presence.
The python winding upon your boney dreams scatter around its rainbow scales,
and the planned random question faked its worst way out of our minds.
Like a mountain trail reaching out the sky, with
too much stretch,
inches by inches by inches,
nursing around the blossom,
chanting the petals brushing dance.


Sometimes, out of my expectation, they open up in my heart. Those pure perfect cut aquamarines reflect pieces of me on their numerous facets.
and their rainbow colors,
and their sharp brownish lines,
and their burning core with a trace of olive.
They gaze me through, piercing holes without blood or burning out without ashes.
I couldn’t get out of…
Words and sound are too complicated to depict,
the single one shot accidentally brought up by a flash back.
It’s too surprising to see how could they the only things left,
in dynamic dimensions acknowledged yet not comprehended.
Now what’s the limits and qualifications for?

The peace lover

I see those names,
none related to my own past no more.
How they have served the great wars, righteous fights, and the bleeding justice, and
how they breed our greed and hate, secrets and needs.

Then you told me,
all about the coming dawn.
In the philosopher’s prophet irrelevant to the alchemist.
Why you swam in the red pond, full of rusty screws and dripping dome covering their lies.

Now how cool was that,
your cape in the mystery and legend in the handbook.
How the dynamic theory triggered the floating bird with both wings broken.
and you came to me with that fragile smile and incoherent speech.

But I know they’ve hurt you,
they’ve despaired your hope.
That’s why you tussled and left the house,
without a retrospect on the public’s perception of awesomeness.